THE  ROCKY  ROAD  TO  DUBLIN 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF 
SEUMAS  BEG 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NKW  YORK    •    BOSTON  •    CHICAGO  •   DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •   SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &   CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


THE 

ROCKY  ROAD  TO  DUBLIN 

The  Adventures  of 
Seumas  Beg' 


BY 


JAMES   STEPHENS 

AUTHOR    OF    "the    CROCK    OF    GOLD,"    "THE    DEMI- 
GODS,"  "the  hill  of  vision,"  etc. 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1915 

All  rights  reserved 


COPTSIGHT,   1915, 

By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  October,  191 5. 


J.  8.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


3? 


CONTENTS 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  SEUMAS  BEG 

PAGE 

The  Cherry  Tree 11 

Breakfast  Time 13 

In  the  Orchard 14 

Day  and  Night 16 

The  Devil's  Bag 18 

A  Visit  from  Abroad 20 

The  Wood  of  Flowers 22 

The  White  Window 23 

Midnight 24 

Behind  the  Hill 26 

The  Secret 28 

April  Showers 29 

The  Turn  of  the  Road 30 

The  Coral  Island 32 

The  Cow 34 

The  Old  Man 35 

What  the  Snake  saw 36 

The  Horse 38 

The  Apple  Tree 40 

5 


33128G 


6  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Appointment 42 

Check 45 

When  I  was  Young 46 

THE  ROCKY  ROAD   TO   DUBLIN 

The  Patriot's  Bed 51 

Grafton  Street 52 

portobello  bridge 53 

York  Street .54 

The  Fifteen  Acres 55 

College  Green 58 

Mount  Street 59 

Westland  Row 60 

The  College  of  Science         ....  62 

The  Canal  Bank 63 

By  Ana  Liffey 64 

From  Hawk  and  Kite 66 

The  Gombeen-man 67 

Beresford  Place 68 

At  the  Fair 69 

The  Fur  Coat 70 

Dublin  Men 71 

O'Connell  Bridge 72 

Charlotte  Street 73 

George's  Street 74 

HoLLES  Street  76 

Katty  Gollagher 77 


CONTENTS  7 

PAGE 

Cork  Hill 78 

The  Piper 79 

The  Shadow 80 

Custom  House  Quay 82 

Stephen's  Green 83 

The  College  of  Surgeons      ....  84 

Merrion  Square 86 

The  Bare  Trees 87 

Dunphy's  Corner 88 

The  Dodder  Bank 89 

White  Fields 90 

The  Paps  of  Dana 91 

Donnelly's  Orchard 92 

DONNYBROOK 93 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF 
SEUMAS  BEG 


THE  CHERRY  TREE 

Come  from  your  bed,  my  drowsy  gentle- 
man! 
And  you,  fair  lady,  rise  and  braid 
your  hair. 
And  let  the  children  wash,  if  wash  they 
can; 
If  not,    assist  you   them,   and   make 
them  fair 
As  is  the  morning  and  the  morning  sky, 
And  every  tree  and  bush  and  bird  in 
air. 

The  sun  climbed  on  the   heights  three 
hours  ago. 
He  laughed  above  the  hills  and  they 
were  glad; 

11 


12        THE   CHERRY  TREE 

With  bubbled  pearl  he  made  the  rivers 
flow 
And  laced  their  mists  in  silver,  and 
he  clad 
The  meads  in  fragrant  pomp  of  green 
and  gold, 
And  bade  the  world  forget  it  had  been 
sad. 

So   lift   yourself,   good    sir!    and   you, 
sweet  dame, 
Unlash  your  evening  eyes  of  pious 
grey; 
Call  on  the  children  by  each  loved  name. 
And  set  them   on  the  grass   and   let 
them  play; 
And  play  with  them  a  while,  and  sing 
with  them 
Beneath  the  cherry  bush  a  roundelay. 


-    BREAKFAST  TIME 

The  sun  is  always  in  the  sky 

Whenever  I  get  out  of  bed, 
And  I  often  wonder  why 

It's  never  late.  —  My  sister  said 
She  did  not  know  who  did  the  trick, 

And  that  she  did  not  care  a  bit, 
And  I  should  eat  my  porridge  quick. 

...  I  think  it's  mother  wakens  it. 


13 


IN  THE  ORCHARD 

There  was  a  giant  by  the  Orchard 

Wall 
Peeping  about  on  this  side  and  on 

that, 
And  feeling  in  the  trees :    he  was  as 

tall 
As  the  big  apple  tree,  and  twice  as 

fat: 
His  beard  was  long,  and  bristly-black, 

and  there 
Were  leaves  and  bits  of  grass  stuck  in 

his  hair. 

He  held  a  great  big  club  in  his  right 
hand. 
And  with  the  other  felt  in  every  tree 

14 


IN  THE   ORCHARD  15 

For  something  that  he  wanted.     You 

could  stand 
Beside  him  and  not  reach  up  to  his 

knee 
So  mighty  big  he  was  —  I  feared  he 

would 
Turn    round,    and    trample    down    to 

where  I  stood. 

I  tried  to  get  away,  but,  as  I  slid 
Under  a  bush,  he  saw  me,  and  he 

bent 
Far    down    and    said,    ''Where   is   the 

Princess  hidf 
I   pointed   to   a   place,   and   oflF   he 

went  — 
But  while  he  searched  I    turned  and 

simply  flew 
Round  by  the  lilac  bushes  back  to  you. 


DAY  AND  NIGHT 

When  the  bright  eyes  of  the  day 

Open  on  the  dusk,  to  see 
Mist  and  shadow  fade  away 

And  the  sun  shine  merrily. 
Then  I  leave  my  bed  and  run 
Out  to  frolic  in  the  sun. 

Through  the  sunny  hours  I  play 
Where  the  stream  is  wandering, 

Plucking  daisies  by  the  way ; 
And  I  laugh  and  dance  and  sing, 

While  the  birds  fly  here  and  there 

Singing  on  the  sunny  air. 

When  the  night  comes,  cold  and  slow, 
And  the  sad  moon  walks  the  sky, 

16 


DAY  AND  NIGHT  17 

When  the  whispering  wind  says  ''Boh, 

Little  hoy  /"  and  makes  me  cry, 
By  my  mother  I  am  led 
Home  again  and  put  to  bed. 


s/ 


^  THE  DEVIL'S  BAG 

I  SAW  the  Devil  walking  down  the  lane 
Behind    our    house.  —  There    was    a 

heavy  bag 
Strapped  tightly  on  his  shoulders,  and 

the  rain 
Sizzled  when  it  hit  him.     He  picked 

a  rag 
Up  from  the  ground  and  put  it  in  his 

*    sack, 
And    grinned    and    rubbed  his   hands. 

There  was  a  thing 
Moving  inside  the  bag  upon  his  back  — 
It  must  have  been  a  soul !     I  saw  it 

fling 
And   twist   about   inside,    and   not   a 

hole 

18 


THE   DEVIL'S  BAG  19 

Or  cranny  for  escape  !     Oh,  it  was  sad  ! 
I    cried,    and    shouted    out,    ''Let   out 

that  soul  r' 
But  he  turned  round,  and,  sure,  his 

face  went  mad, 
And   twisted   up   and   down,    and   he 

said  "Hell!'' 
And    ran    away.  .  .  .     Oh,    mammy ! 

I'm  not  well. 


-  A  VISIT  FROM  ABROAD 

A  SPECK  went  blowing  up  against  the 
sky 
As  little   as  a  leaf:    then  it  drew 
near 
And  broadened.  —  *'  It's  a  bird, "  said  I, 
And  fetched   my   bow  and    arrows. 
It  was  queer ! 
It  grew  up  from  a  speck  into  a  blot. 
And  squattered  past  a  cloud ;   then 
it  flew  down 
All  crumply,  and  waggled  such  a  lot 
I  thought  the  thing  would  fall.  —  It 
was  a  brown 
Old  carpet  where  a  man  was  sitting 
snug 
Who,  when  he  reached  the  ground, 
began  to  sew 

20 


A  VISIT  FROM  ABROAD    21 

A  big  hole  in  the  middle  of  the  rug, 
And    kept    on    peeping    everywhere 
to  know 
Who  might  be  coming  —  then  he  gave 
a  twist 
And  flew  away.  ...     I  fired  at  him 
but  missed. 


THE    WOOD    OF   FLOWERS 

I  WENT  to  the  Wood  of  Flowers 
(No  one  was  with  me) ; 

I  was  there  alone  for  hours. 
I  was  happy  as  could  be 

In  the  Wood  of  Flowers. 

There  was  grass  on  the  ground. 
There  were  buds  on  the  tree. 

And  the  wind  had  a  sound 
Of  such  gaiety. 

That  I  was  as  happy 
As  happy  could  be, 

In  the  Wood  of  Flowers. 


THE  WHITE  WINDOW 

The  moon  comes  '^very  night  to  peep 
Through  the  window  where  I  lie. 

And  I  pretend  to  be  asleep ; 

But  I  watch  the  moon  as  it  goes  by, 

And  it  never  makes  a  sound. 

It  stands  and  stares,  and  then  it  goes 
To  the  house  that's  next  to  me. 

Stealing  on  its  tippy-toes, 

To  peep  at  folk  asleep  maybe ; 

And  it  never  makes  a  sound. 


23 


MIDNIGHT 

And  then  I  wakened  up  in  such  a  fright ; 
I  thought  I  heard  a  movement  in 
the  room 
But  did  not  dare  to  look;    I  snuggled 
right 
Down  underneath  the  bedclothes  — 
then  the  boom 
Of  a  tremendous  voice  said,  ''Sit  up, 
lad, 
And  let  me  see  your  face.''     So  up 
I  sat, 
Although    I    didn't    want    to.     I    was 
glad 
I  did  though,  for  it  was  an  angel 
that 

24 


MIDNIGHT  ^5 

Had  called  me,  and  he  said,  he'd  come 
to  know 
Was  I  the  boy  who  wouldn't  say 
his  prayers 
\  Nor  do  his  sums,  and  that  I'd  have 
j  to  go 

Straight    down    to    hell    because    of 
such  affairs. 
...  I  said  I'd  be  converted  and  do 

good 
If  he  would  let  me  off  —  he  said  he 
would. 


BEHIND  THE  HILL 

Behind  the  hill  I  met  a  man  in  green 
Who  asked  me  if  my  mother  had 
gone  out  ? 
I  said  she  had.     He  asked  me  had  I 
seen 
His  castle  where  the  people  sing  and 
shout 
From  dawn  to  dark,  and  told  me  that 
he  had 
A  crock  of  gold  inside  a  hollow  tree, 
And  I  could  have  it.  —  I  wanted  money- 
bad 
To  buy  a  sword  with,  and  I  thought 
that  he 
Would  keep  his  solemn  word;    so,  off 
we  went. 

26 


BEHIND  THE  HILL         27 

He  said  he  had  a  pound  hid  in  the 

crock, 
And  owned  the  castle  too,  and  paid  no 

rent 
To  any  one,  and  that  you  had  to 

knock 
Five  hundred  times.     I  asked,  ''Who 

reckoned  up?'' 
And    he    said,    ''You    insulting    little 

pup ! " 


THE  SECRET 

I  WAS  frightened,  for  a  wind 

Crept  along  the  grass  to  say- 
Something  that  was  in  my  mind 
Yesterday  — 

Something  that  I  did  not  know 
Could  be  found  out  by  the  wind, 

I  had  buried  it  so  low 
In  my  mind. 


28 


APRIL  SHOWERS 

The  leaves  are  fresh  after  the  rain, 

The  air  is  cool  and  clear, 
The  sun  is  shining  warm  again. 

The  sparrows  hopping  in  the  lane 
Are  brisk  and  full  of  cheer. 

And  that  is  why  we  dance  and  play, 
And  that  is  why  we  sing. 

Calling  out  in  voices  gay, 

We  will  not  go  to  school  to-day 

Or  learn  anything : 

It  is  a  happy  thing,  I  say. 
To  be  alive  on  such  a  day. 


THE   TURN   OF   THE    ROAD 

I   WAS  playing   with   my   hoop   along 
the  road 
Just   where   the   bushes   are,   when, 
suddenly, 
There  came  a  shout.  —  I  ran  away  and 
stowed 
Myself  beneath  a  bush,  and  watched 
to  see 
What  made  the  noise,  and  then,  around 
the  bend, 
I  saw  a  woman  running.     She  was 
old 
And  wrinkle-faced,  and  had  big  teeth. 
—  The  end 
Of  her  red  shawl  caught  on  a  bush 
and  rolled 

30 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD   31 

Right  off  her,  and  her  hair  fell  down.  — 

Her  face 
Was  awful  white,  and  both  her  eyes 

looked  sick, 
And  she  was  talking  queer.     "0  God 

of  Grace!'' 
Said  she,  ''where  is  the  child?''  and 

flew  back  quick 
The  way  she  came,  and  screamed,  and 

shook  her  hands ; 
.  .  .  Maybe    she    was    a    witch    from 

foreign  lands. 


THE  CORAL  ISLAND 

His  arms  were  round  a  chest  of  oaken 
wood, 
It  was  clamped  with  brass  and  iron 
studs,  and  seemed 
An  awful  weight.     After  a  while  he 
stood 
And  I  stole  near  to  him.  —  His  white 
eyes  gleamed 
As  he  peeped  secretly  about;   he  laid 
The  oaken  chest  upon  the  ground, 
then  drew 
A  great  knife  from  his  belt,  and  stuck 
the  blade 
Into  the  ground  and  dug.     The  clay 
soon  flew 
In  all  directions  underneath  a  tree, 

32 


THE   CORAL  ISLAND        33 

And  when  the  hole  was  deep  he  put 

the  box 
Down  there,  and  threw  the  clay  back 

cunningly, 
Stamping    the    ground    quite    flat ; 

then  like  a  fox 
He    crept    among    the    trees.  ...     I 

went  next  day 
To  dig  the  treasure  up,  but  I  lost  my 

way. 


THE  COW 

Cow,  Cow ! 

I  and  thou 
Are  looking  at  each  other's  eyes 
You  are  lying  on  the  grass 
Eating  every  time  I  pass, 
And  you  do  not  seem  to  be 
Ever  in  perplexity : 
You  are  good  I'm  sure,  and  not 
Fit  for  nothing  but  the  pot : 
For  your  bearing  is  so  kind, 
And  your  quietness  so  wise : 

Cow,  Cow ! 

I  and  thou 
Are  looking  at  each  other's  eyes. 


34 


THE  OLD  MAN 

An  old  man  sat  beneath  a  tree 

Alone ; 
So  still  was  he 

That,  if  he  had  been  carved  in  stone, 
He  could  not  be 

More  quiet  or  more  cold  : 
He  was  an  ancient  man 

More  than 
A  thousand  ages  old. 


S5 


WHAT    THE    SNAKE    SAW 

A  LITTLE  girl  and  a  big,  ugly  man 
Went  down  the  road.     The  girl  was 
crying 
And  asking  to  go  home,  but  when  she 
ran 
He  hit  her  on  the  head  and  sent  her 
flying, 
And  called  her  a  young  imp,  and  said 
he'd  break 
Her  neck  unless  she  went  with  him, 
and  then 
He  smacked  her  on  the  cheek.  —  I  was 
a  snake 
At    that    time    crawling    through    a 
robber's  den, 

36 


WHAT  THE   SNAKE  SAW    37 

And    diamonds    were    sticking   to   my 

tongue  — 
(That's  the  best  dodge),  but  when 

I  saw  the  way 
He  beat  the  httle  girl  I  up  and  flung 
A  stone  at  him.     My  aim  was  bad 

that  day 
Because   I   hit   the   girl  .  .  .  and   she 

did  sing ! 
But  he  jumped  round  and  cursed  like 

anything. 


THE  HORSE 

A  SPARROW  hopped  about  the  street, 
And  he  was  not  a  bit  afraid ; 

He  flew  between  a  horse's  feet, 
And  ate  his  supper  undismayed : 

I  think  myself  the  horse  knew  well 

The  bird  came  for  the  grains  that  fell. 

For  his  eye  was  looking  down. 
And  he  danced  the  corn  about 

In  his  nose-bag,  till  the  brown 
Grains  of  corn  were  tumbled  out ; 

And  I  fancy  that  he  said, 

''Eat  it  up,  young  Speckle-Head !" 

The  driver  then  came  back  again. 
He  climbed  into  the  heavy  dray ; 

38 


THE  HORSE  39 

And  he  tightened  up  the  rein. 

Cracked  his  whip  and  drove  away. 
But  when  the  horse's  ribs  were  hit, 
The  sparrow  did  not  care  a  bit. 


THE  APPLE  TREE 

I  WAS  hiding  in  the  crooked  apple  tree, 
Scouting  for  Indians,  when  a  man 
came; 
I  thougiit  it  was  an  Indian,  for  he 
Was  running  Hke  the  wind.  —  There 
was  a  flame 
Of  sunlight  on  his  hand  as  he  drew 
near. 
And  then  I  saw  a  knife  gripped  in 
his  fist. 
He  panted  like  a  horse ;   his  eyes  were 
queer, 
Wide-open,  staring  frightfully,  and, 
hist ! 
His  mouth   stared   open   like   another 
eye, 

40 


THE  APPLE  TREE  41 

And  all  his  hair  was  matted  down 

with  sweat. 
I  crouched  among  the  leaves  for  fear 

he'd  spy 
Where  I  was  hiding,  so  he  did  not 

get 
His  awful  eyes  on  me,   but  like  the 

wind 
He    fled    as    if    he    heard    something 

behind. 


THE  APPOINTMENT 

Tree  !  you  are  years  standing  there, 

Gripping  tight  to  the  side  of  the  hill, 
And  your  branches  are  spread  on  the 
air. 
While  you  stand  so  sad  and  so  still, 
And  you  do  not  complain 
When  you're  wet  with  the  rain. 
Though  I  think  you  have  often  been 
ill. 

I  would  like  (but  it  could  not  be  done, 
So  you  must  not  keep  me  to  my 
word) 
To  take  you  away  when  the  sun 

Goes    down,    and    the    breezes    are 
stirred, 

42 


THE  APPOINTMENT        43 

And  hug  you  in  bed 
With  myself,  till  you  said 
That  to  sleep  on  a  hill  was  absurd. 

0  beautiful  tree  !  when  the  night 

Is  dark,   and  the  winds  come  and 
scold, 

1  would  love  then  to  cuddle  you  tight, 
For  I  fear  you  will  die  of  the  cold ; 

But  you  are  so  tall. 
And  my  bed  is  so  small, 
That  it  could   not  be   done,   I   am 
told. 

My  mother  is  calling  for  me. 

And  the  baby  is  wanting  to  play, 

I  shall  have  to  go  home  now,  you  see. 

But  I'll  give  you  a  kiss  if  I  may : 

I  would  stay  if  I  could, 

But  a  child  must  be  good. 

So  I  must,  darling  tree,  go  away. 

I  will  leave  you  my  pencil  and  slate. 
And  this  little  pin  from  my  frock ; 


44         THE   APPOINTMENT 

But  now  I  must  go  for  it's  late, 

And  my  mother  is  rattling  the  lock : 
So  good-bye,  darling  dear, 
I'll  come  back,  never  fear, 
In  the  morning  at  seven  o'clock. 


CHECK 

The  night  was  creeping  on  the  ground ; 
She  crept  and  did  not  make  a  sound 
Until  she  reached  the  tree,  and  then 
She  covered  it,  and  stole  again 
Along  the  grass  beside  the  wall. 

I  heard  the  rustle  of  her  shawl 
As  she  threw  blackness  everywhere 
Upon  the  sky  and  ground  and  air, 
And  in  the  room  where  I  was  hid : 
But  no  matter  what  she  did 
To  everything  that  was  without 
She  could  not  put  my  candle  out. 

So  I  stared  at  the  night,  and  she 
Stared  back  solemnly  at  me. 

45 


WHEN   I   WAS   YOUNG 

I  WILL  not  know  when  I  am  dead 

If  sun  or  moon  is  overhead ; 

I'll  stretch  out  flat  without  a  sound 

Inside  a  box  beneath  the  ground, 

And  never  rise  again  to  see 

Branches  lifting  on  a  tree, 

Nor  hear  the  song  the  finches  sing 

In  the  spring. 

I'll  not,  while  sunny  ages  go, 

Lift  a  hand  or  wag  a  toe ; 

But  in  a  wooden  box  will  be 

Hidden  for  eternity 

From   sea   and   sun,   from   sight   and 

sound. 
From  touch  of  people,  voice  of  friend, 

46 


WHEN  I   WAS  YOUNG      47 

From    all    that    makes    my    heart    to 

bound 
Denying  such  an  end  : 
It  is  so  strange  —  I  wonder  why 
People  die ! 


THE  ROCKY  ROAD  TO 
DUBLIN 


49 


THE  PATRIOT'S  BED 

When  a  son  you  shall  desire, 

Pray  to  water  and  to  fire ; 

But  when  you  would  have  a  daughter, 

Pray  to  fire  and  then  to  water. 


51 


GRAFTON  STREET 

At  four  o'clock,  in  dainty  talk, 
Lords  and  lovely  ladies  walk, 
With  a  gentle  dignity. 
From  the  Green  to  Trinity. 

And  at  five  o'clock  they  take, 
In  a  Cafe,  tea  and  cake. 
Then  they  call  a  carriage,  and 
Drive  back  into  fairyland. 


52 


/  ^  J 

A-v 

N5   ^ 

PORTOBELLO  BRIDGE 

Silver  stars  shine  peacefully, 
The  Canal  is  silver,  the 
Poplars  bear  with  modest  grace 
Gossamers  of  silver  lace. 
And  the  turf  bank  wears  with  glee 
Black  and  silver  filigree. 


53 


YORK  STREET 

If  in  winter  you  shall  drive 

Birds    from     crumbs    you    shall    not 

thrive. 
But  if  you  feed  them  they  will  fly 
To  sing  it  sweetly  on  the  sky. 

So  throw  up  the  window,  and 
Scatter  with  a  lavish  hand. 
Taking  care  you  do  not  spill 
Flower-pots  from  the  window-sill, 

Singing,  "Ireland  shall  be  free 
From  the  centre  to  the  sea" ; 
Singing  bravely  once  again, 
"We  are  Dan  O'Connell's  Men." 


54 


THE  FIFTEEN  ACRES 

I  CLING  and  swing 
On  a  branch,  or  sing 
Through  the  cool,  clear  hush  of  Morn- 
ing, O : 
Or  fling  my  wing 
On  the  air,  and  bring 
To  sleepier  birds  a  warning,  O ; 
That  the  night's  in  flight. 
And  the  sun's  in  sight. 
And  the  dew  is  the  grass  adorning,  O : 
And  the  green  leaves  swing 
As  I  sing,  sing,  sing. 
Up  by  the  river, 
Down  the  dellj 
To  the  little  wee  nest. 

Where  the  big  tree  fell, 
So  early  in  the  morning,  O. 

55 


56      THE  FIFTEEN  ACRES 

I  flit  and  twit 
In  the  sun  for  a  bit 
When  his  Hght  so  bright  is  shining,  O : 
Or  sit  and  fit 
My  plumes,  or  knit 
Straw  plaits  for  the  nest's  nice  lining,  0  : 
And  she  with  glee 
Shows  unto  me 
Underneath  her  wings  reclining,  O : 
And  I  sing  that  Peg 
Has  an  egg,  egg,  egg. 
Up  by  the  oat-field, 

Round  the  mill. 
Past  the  meadow, 

Down  the  hill, 
So  early  in  the  morning,  O. 

I  stoop  and  swoop 

On  the  air,  or  loop 
Through  the  trees,  and  then  go  soar- 
ing, O : 

To  group  with  a  troop 

On  the  gusty  poop 
While  the  wind  behind  is  roaring,  0 : 


THE  FIFTEEN  ACRES       57 

I  skim  and  swim 
By  a  cloud's  red  rim 
And  up  to  the  azure  flooring,  O : 
And  my  wide  wings  drip 
As  I  slip,  slip,  slip 

Down  through  the  rain-drops, 

Back  where  Peg 
Broods  in  the  nest 

On  the  little  white  egg, 
So  early  in  the  morning,  O. 


COLLEGE  GREEN 

When  you  meet  an  ancient  man 
Be  as  silent  as  you  can, 
So  when  old  age  comes  to  you 
Courtesies  shall  gather  too. 

And  King  Billy's  horse  will  start 
From  our  street  and  from  our  heart, 
When  each  Irishman  shall  be 
Perfected  in  courtesy. 


ss 


MOUNT  STREET 

Here  and  there  on  the  wings  of  night 

A  fleck  of  bhie  and  purple  Hght, 

A  scrap  of  cloud,  a  bird,  a  star, 

A  comet  hurrying  afar 

On  the  abyss,  and  the  moon 

Standing  in  her  silver  shoon. 

On  the  summit  of  the  sky. 

Delicate  and  proud  and  high, 

The  silver  moon  on  a  silver  sea 

Spins  her  silver  broidery 

While  the  stars  send  down  a  light 

Here  and  there  on  the  wings  of  night. 


59 


WESTLAND  ROW 

Every  Sunday  there's  a  throng 
Of  pretty  girls,  who  trot  along 
In  a  pious,  breathless  state 
(They  are  nearly  always  late) 
To  the  Chapel,  where  they  pray 
For  the  sins  of  Saturday. 

They  have  frocks  of  white  and  blue, 
Yellow  sashes  they  have  too. 
And  red  ribbons  show  each  head 
Tenderly  is  ringleted ; 
And  the  bell  rings  loud,  and  the 
Railway  whistles  urgently. 

After  Chapel  they  will  go. 
Walking  delicately  slow, 

60 


WESTLAND   ROW  61 

Telling  still  how  Father  John 
Is  so  good  to  look  upon, 
And  such  other  grave  affairs 
As  they  thought  of  during  prayers. 


THE  COLLEGE  OF  SCIENCE 

Who  knows  a  thing  and  will  not  tell 
Shall  spend  eternity  in  hell ; 
But  he  who  learns  and  teaches  free 
In  heaven  spends  eternity. 

Around  the  Leinster  Lawn  we  go 
Into  Molesworth  Street,  and  so 
To  Saint  Stephen's  Green,  where  we 
Hang  a  banner  on  a  tree. 


J 


THE  CANAL  BANK 

I  KNOW  a  girl, 

And  a  girl  knows  me, 
And  the  owl  says,  what  ? 
And  the  owl  says,  who  ? 
But  what  we  know 

We  both  agree 
That  nobody  else 

Shall  hear  or  see, 
It's  all  between 
Herself  and  me : 

To  wit  ?  said  the  owl. 
To  woo,  said  I, 
To-what,  to-wit,  to-woo ! 


BY  ANA  LIFFEY 

If  you  come  to  live  with  me 
I  will  sing  so  heartily 
In  your  honour  that  you  will 
Stay  to  wonder  at  my  skill. 


In  your  honour  I  will  fill 
The  world  with  songs  of  triumph,  till 
You  and  I  and  Time  are  old 
Pipers  of  the  Age  of  Gold. 


Time  and  you  and  I  will  hold, 
Everywhere  by  field  and  fold, 
Concerts  of  content,  and  be 
Known  afar  for  jollity. 

64 


BY  ANA  LIFFEY  65 

Everywhere  by  fold  and  field 
We  will  wander  well-agreed, 
So  I  sing  right  heartily 
Come  along  and  live  with  me. 


FROM  HAWK  AND  KITE 

Poor  frightened,  fluttered,  silent  one ! 

If  we  had  seen  your  nest  of  clay 
We  would  have  passed  it  by,  and  gone, 

Nor  frightened  you  away. 

For  there  are  others  guard  a  nest 
From  hawk  and  kite  and  lurking  foe. 

And  more  despair  is  in  their  breast 
Than  you  can  ever  know. 

Shield  the  nests  where'er  they  be, 
On  the  ground  or  on  the  tree ; 
Guard  the  poor  from  treachery. 


66 


THE   GOMBEEN-MAN 

I  PUT  the  sky  into  my  pocket, 
And  the  sea  into  my  locket, 
And  into  my  breeches-band 
I  put  the  land. 

So  I  was  trotting  off  to  share, 
Among  my  comrades  in  the  lair. 
Our  profits,  when  a  peeler  came 
And  took  my  name. 

And  now  I'm  in  the  County  Gaol ! 

Will  anybody  be  my  bail  ? 

Will  anybody  be  my  bail 

And  take  me  from  the  County  Gaol  ? 


67 


BERESFORD  PLACE 

The  man  who  has  and  does  not  give 
Shall  break  his  neck,  and  cease  to  live ; 
But  he  who  gives  without  a  care 
Shall  gather  rubies  from  the  air. 


AT  THE  FAIR 

The  lark  shall  never  come  to  say 
To  a  gombeen-man,  "Good  day," 
And  the  lark  shall  never  cry 
To  a  kindly  man,  "Good-bye." 

See  the  greedy  gombeen-man 
Taking  everything  he  can 
From  man  and  woman,  dog  and  cat 
And  the  lark  does  not  like  that. 


THE  FUR  COAT 

I  WALKED  out  in  my  Coat  of  Pride, 
I  looked  about  on  every  side, 
And  said  the  mountains  should  not  be 
Just  where  they  were,  and  that  the 

sea 
Was  badly  placed,  and  that  the  beech 
Should   be   an   oak  —  and   then   from 

each 
I  turned  in  dignity  as  if 
They    were    not    there :     I    sniffed    a 

sniff. 
And  climbed  upon  my  sunny  shelf, 
And   sneezed   a  while,   and   scratched 

myself. 


70 


DUBLIN  MEN 

A  Dublin  man  will  frown  when  he 
Hears  a  tale  of  villainy ; 
But  when  a  kindness  you  relate 
He  swings  and  whistles  on  the  gate. 


71 


O'CONNELL  BRIDGE 

In  Dublin  town  the  people  see 
Gorgeous  clouds  sail  gorgeously. 
They  are  finer,  I  declare, 
Than  the  clouds  of  anywhere. 

A  swirl  of  blue  and  red  and  green, 
A  stream  of  blinding  gold,  a  sheen 
From  silver  hill  and  pearly  ridge 
Comes  each  evening  on  the  bridge. 

So  when  you  walk  in  a  field  look  down 
Lest  you  tramp  on  a  daisy's  crown, 
But  in  a  city  look  always  high 
And  watch  the  beautiful  clouds  go  by. 


72 


CHARLOTTE  STREET 

Inside  a  soap  shop,  down  a  lane, 
A  big  bee  buzzed  on  a  window-pane, 

Climbing  the  cold  glass  up  and  down ; 
Bee,  what  brought  you  into  town  ? 

You  are  tired  and  hungry  and  scarce 

alive. 
Poor  old  Shaggy-Tail !     where's  your 

hive? 


7S 


GEORGE'S  STREET 

Listen  !  if  but  women  were 
Half  as  kind  as  they  are  fair, 
There  would  be  an  end  to  all 
Miseries  that  do  befall. 


Cloud  and  wind  would  run  together 
In  a  dance  of  sunny  weather, 
And  the  happy  trees  would  throw 
Gifts  to  travellers  below. 


Then  the  lion,  meek  and  mild, 
With  the  lamb  would,  side  by  side. 
Couch  him  friendly,  and  would  be 
Innocent  of  enmity. 

74 


GEORGE'S  STREET  75 

Then  the  Frozen  Pole  would  go. 
Tossing  off  his  fields  of  snow, 
And  would  shake  delighted  feet 
With  the  girls  of  George's  Street. 

These,  if  women  only  were 
Half  as  kind  as  they  are  fair. 


HOLLES  STREET 

Through  the  air. 
Everywhere,  the  rain  is  falhng ; 
BrawHng  on  house  and  tree : 
On  every  place  that  you  can  see 
The  rain  drops  go ; 

The  roofs  are  wet,  the  walls,  the 
ground   below. 

Midnight  has  come ; 

Now  all  the  people  stretch  them  blind 
and  dumb 

Each  in  a  bed 

Save  I  who  sit  and  listen  overhead 

Unto  the  rain 

Splashing  upon  the  roof  and  window- 
pane. 

Midnight !  and  I 

Can  get  no  sleep,  nor  can  the  sky. 

76 


KATTY  GOLLAGHER 

The  hill  is  bare :  I  only  find 

The  grass,  the  sky  and  one  small  tree 
Tossing  wildly  on  the  wind ; 

And  that  is  all  there  is  to  see : 
A  tree,  a  hill,  a  wind,  a  sky 
Where  nothing  ever  passes  by. 


77 


CORK  HILL 

Come  all  ye  happy  children,  and 
Gather  round  me  hand  in  hand, 
Dancing  to  the  merry  cry, 
'*See  the  Robbers  Passing  By." 

Past  the  Castle  we  will  dance 
To  the  Mansion  House,  and  prance 
Back  by  George's  Street  and  cry 
''See  the  Robbers  Passing  By." 

Gather  then  ye  children  all 
Into  ranks  processional. 
Marching  to  the  merry  cry, 
''See  the  Robbers  Passing  By." 


78 


THE  PIPER 

Shepherd  !  while  the  lambs  do  feed 
And  you  rest  beneath  a  tree, 

Pipe  upon  an  oaten  reed 
Merrily  and  merrily. 

Should  it  rain  do  not  forbear  — 
Rain  comes  from  the  happy  sky  — 

Tune  us  now  a  quiet  air 
Till  the  shower  passes  by. 

Back  the  sun  will  come  in  gold ! 

Pipe  away,  my  dear,  until 
Evening  brings  the  lambs  to  fold  — 

You  may  weep  then,  if  you  will. 


79 


THE  SHADOW 

Silence  comes  upon  the  night. 
Gone  is  all  the  cheerful  day, 

The  moon  has  disappeared  from  sight 
Every  star  has  gone  away. 


Sinking  through  the  void,  and  thence 
Disappearing,  star  and  sky. 

In  the  stern  and  black  immense 
That  has  blinded  ever;^  eye. 


Silence  crouches  on  the  land 
In  the  street  a  shadow  lies 

Cloaked  in  velvet  wrappings,  and 
With  a  mask  upon  her  eyes. 

80 


[^^ 


THE   SRJ^W  81 

Anonymous  and  terrible    ^ 
Mother  of  the  prinpl  ray, 

Only  night  because  ^ou|art 
In  thyself  excess  ^B^, 


CUSTOM  HOUSE  QUAY 

When  a  Dublin  man  shall  say, 
"Give  me  a  little  bread,  I  pray," 
If  you  do  not  give  him  bread 
You  will  be  hungry  when  he  is  fed. 

And  let  no  priest  or  magistrate 
Scowl  upon  the  poor  man's  plate, 
Asking  him  the  question  sly 
To  which  no  one  can  reply. 


STEPHEN'S   GREEN 

The  wind  stood  up  and  gave  a  shout ; 

He  whistled  on  his  fingers,  and 
Kicked  the  withered  leaves  about 

And  thumped  the  branches  with  his 
hand, 
And  said  he'd  kill,  and  kill,  and  kill. 
And  so  he  will,  and  so  he  will. 


83 


THE  COLLEGE  OF  SURGEONS 

As  I  stood  at  the  door 
Sheltered  out  of  the  wind, 

Something  flew  in 

Which  I  hardly  could  find. 


In  the  dim,  gloomy  doorway 
I  searched  till  I  found 

A  dry,  withered  leaf 

Lying  down  on  the  ground. 


With  thin,  pointed  claws 
And  a  dry,  dusty  skin,  — 

Sure  a  hall  is  no  place 
For  a  leaf  to  be  in ! 

84 


COLLEGE  OF  SURGEONS    85 

O  where  is  your  tree 

And  your  sunimer  and  all, 

Poor  dusty  leaf 

Whistled  into  a  hall  ? 


MERRION  SQUARE 

Grey  clouds  on  the  tinted  sky, 
A  drifting  moon,  a  quiet  breeze 
Drooping  mournfully  to  cry 
In  the  branches  of  the  trees. 

The  crying  wind,  the  sighing  trees, 
The  ruffled  stars,  the  darkness  falling 
Down  the  sky,  and  on  the  breeze 
A  belated  linnet  calling. 


THE  BARE  TREES 

Unfortunates,  on  the  bare  tree ! 

I  mourn  for  ye 

That  have  no  place  to  house, 

But  on  those  winter-white,  cold  boughs 

To  sit, 

(How  far  apart  ye  sit) 
And  brood 
In  this  wide,  wintry  solitude 

That  has  no  song  at  all  to  hearten  it. 

Fly  away,  little  birds ! 

Fly  away  to  Spain, 
Stay  there  all  the  winter 

Then  come  back  again  ; 
Come  back  in  the  summer 

When  the  leaves  are  thick ; 
Little,  weeny,  cold  birds, 

Fly  away  quick. 

87 


DUNPHY'S  CORNER 

Pacing  slowly  down  the  road 
Black  horses  go,  with  load  on  load 
Of  Dublin  people  dead,  and  they 
Will  be  covered  up  in  clay. 

Ere  their  friends  go  home,  each  man 
Will  shake  his  head,  and  drain  a  can 
To  Dublin  people  we  will  meet 
Not  again  in  Grafton  Street. 


THE  DODDER  BANK 

When  no  flower  is  nigh,  you  might 
Spy  a  weed  with  deep  dehght ; 
So,  when  far  from  saints  and  bhss, 
God  might  give  a  sin  a  kiss. 


WHITE  FIELDS 

In  the  winter  children  go 
Walking  in  the  fields  of  snow 
Where  there  is  no  grass  at  all, 
And  the  top  of  every  wall, 
Every  fence,  and  every  tree 
Is  as  white  as  white  can  be. 

Pointing  out  the  way  they  came, 
(Every  one  of  them  the  same) 
All  across  the  fields  there  be 
Prints  in  silver  filigree  ; 
And  their  mothers  find  them  so 
By  the  footprints  in  the  snow. 


90 


THE   PAPS  OF   DANA     "^ 


The     mountains     stand     and     stare 
around. 

They  are  far  too  proud  to  speak ; 
Altho'  they're  rooted  in  the  ground 

Up  they  go,  peak  after  peak, 
Beyond  the  tallest  tree,  and  still 

Soaring  over  house  and  hill 
Until  you'd  think  they'd  never  stop 

Going  up,  top  over  top, 
Into  the  clouds  — 

Still  I  mark 

That  a  sparrow  or  a  lark 
Flying  just  as  high  can  sing 

As  if  he'd  not  done  anything. 

I  think  the  mountains  ought  to  be 
Taught  a  little  modesty. 


91 


DONNELLY'S  ORCHARD 

He  who  locks  a  gate  doth  close 
Pity's  heart  against  his  woes ; 
But  who  opens  one  shall  find 
God  is  standing  just  behind. 


92 


DONNYBROOK 

I  SAW  the  moon  so  broad  and  bright 
Saihng  high  on  a  frosty  night : 

And  the  air  swung  far  and  far  between 
The  silver  disc  and  the  orb  of  green : 

While  here  and  there  a  wisp  of  white 
Cloud-film  swam  on  the  misty  light : 

And  crusted  thickly  on  the  sky. 
High  and  higher  and  yet  more  high, 

Were      golden       star-points      dusted 

through 
The  great,  wide,  silent  vault  of  blue : 

93 


94  DONNYBROOK 

Then  I  said  to  me  —  God  is  good 
And  the  world  is  fair  —  and  where  I 
stood 

I  knelt  me  down  and  bent  my  head, 
And  said  my  prayers,  and  went  to  bed. 


THE    END 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America. 


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Songs  from  the  Clay 

Cloth^  I2tn0f  $i.oo 

"  A  charming^mpishness  invests  the  poems  of  James  Stephens,  called 
*  Songs  from  the  Clay.'  "  —  Christian  Advocate. 

"The  word  'pagan'  occurs  not  unnaturally  in  an  attempt  to  catch 
his  personality.  There  is  something  sunburnt  and  wind-touched,  some- 
thing primitive  and  wild  in  his  lyrics,  that  sets  them  apart  and  gives 
them  savor.  At  times,  his  rustic  pictures  carry  one  straight  back  to 
Virgil's  *  Eclogues,'  or  to  Theocritus."  —  Bellman. 

"The  tremor  of  wildness  in  nature,  the  glint  of  unseen  vings,  the 
beat  of  fairies'  feet,  the  tune  on  the  wind,  the  terror  in  the  void  —  it 
is  perhaps  the  special  privilege  of  the  Celt  to  discern  these  things  ; 
but  few  even  of  the  Celts  have  presented  them  with  such  witty  brevity, 
such  choice  felicity  of  phrase,  as  Mr.  Stephens  commands  from  his 
happy  muse."  —  Harriet  Monroe.,  in  "  Poetry.^'' 

"  A  master  of  clear-cut  description  and  keen  satire,  James  Stephens 
enlivens  the  one  with  the  touch  of  genuine  human  emotion  and  softens 
the  other  with  a  whimsical   reflection    or    a    good-humored    smile." 

—  Indepejident. 

"  In  his  last  book  of  verse,  '  Songs  from  the  Clay,'  one  hears  sudden, 
swift  laughter,  lusty  vagabonds  singing  by  the  hedgerows,  the  stirring 
of  invisible  angelic  wings,  and  the  sardonic  chuckles  of  malevolent  imps. 
Among  the  poets  who  have  shared  in  the  Celtic  renaissance,  Stephens 
is  the  crystal-gazer.  He  bends  patiently  over  the  great  crystal  of  life 
and  records  the  significance  of  the  shadow  shapes  that  gather  and  dis- 
solve within  its  confusing  twilight,  chanting  to  us  truly,  that  no  man 
shall  ever  be  able  to  say,  —  whence,  nor,  —  whither,  and,  that  nought 
endures  at  the  end  save  the  crystal  itself.  You  can  afford  to  miss  much 
poetry,  but  you  cannot  afford  to  miss  James  Stephens'  three  collections, 
*  Insurrections,'  'The  Hill  of  Vision,'  and   'Songs  from  the  Clay.'" 

—  Review  of  Reviews. 


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THE  POEMS  OF  JAMES  STEPHENS 

Insurrections 

Boards^  i^mo,  $.40 

The  Hill  of  Vision 

Cloth,  i2mo,  $J.3J 

"  *  The  Hill  of  Vision '  is  an  unusual  book.  Stephens's  point  of 
view  is  thoughtful  and  thought  compelling."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  *  Insurrections '  —  a  booklet  of  brilliant  verse.  ...  *  The  Hill  of 
Vision '  —  a  fine  result  of  the  new  Celtic  movement."  —  San  Francisco 
Chronicle. 

"A  book  has  come  to  our  desk  called  'The  Hill  of  Vision' — a 
book  that  has  about  it  an  air  of  inspiration  and  a  naive  directness  and 
intimacy  that  place  it,  in  spirit,  near  to  the  work  of  William  Blake."  — 
Literary  Digest. 

"  No  reader  of  poetry  can  afford  to  let  *  The  Hill  of  Vision '  pass. 
It  is  one  of  the  noteworthy  volumes  in  the  history  of  the  Irish  Literary 
Revival."  —  Boston  Herald. 

"  What  is  most  distinctive  in  Mr.  Stephens's  poetry  is  its  unflinch- 
ing view  of  life,  its  sheer  penetration  into  the  futility  of  solution  or  the 
comfort  of  compromise  ...  a  new  paganism,  rigorous  and  unafraid." 
—  Chicago  Tribune. 

"...  An  unusual  sense  of  all  the  values  of  rhythm  and  a  striking 
power  in  the  manipulation  of  words  in  picture-making." —  The  In- 
dependent. 

"  Daring  in  occasional  subjects  and  in  imtrammeled  mode  of  ex- 
pression." —  Buffalo  Express. 


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BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

The  Demi-Gods 

C/oik,  i2mo,  $1.35 

"To  write  'The  Demi-Gods,'  Mr.  Stephens  has  dipped  again  into 
the  sparkling  fountain  of  his  apparently  inexhaustible  originality.  As 
was  said  of '  The  Crock  of  Gold,'  it  does  not  matter  what  it  means  or 
whether  it  means  anything.  It  goes  to  our  heads  as  we  surrender  our- 
selves to  it  in  a  dazed  fascination." — New  York  Times. 

"  It  would  be  hard  to  match  anywhere  in  recent  literature  the  fun 
and  imaginative  quality  of  the  narrative  of  the  theft  by  an  archangel 
('  Finding  is  keepings,'  said  the  archangel)  of  Brian  O'Brien's  thrip- 
pence,  whereby  heaven  and  hell  were  convulsed  and  Ireland  dis- 
turbed." —  Outlook. 

"  It  is  a  delightful  book.  The  fun,  the  absurdity,  the  pathos,  and 
above  all  the  poetry  ring  true."  —  Sun  Weekly. 

"  It's  like  a  spring  rainbow,  this  story,  so  full  is  it  of  wit  and  wis- 
dom and  tears  and  chuckles  and  tender,  half-sorrowful  smiles."  —  Chi- 
cago Herald. 

*'  Only  James  Stephens,  the  Irishman,  could  have  written  this  tale." 
—  Pittsburgh  Post. 

"  Every  one  who  was  enthusiastic  over  *  The  Crock  of  Gold '  ought 
to  be  doubly  enthusiastic  over  *  The  Demi-Gods.'  ...  It  is  the  work 
of  a  writer  of  vision,  of  frolic  and  original  humour,  and  of  splendid  elo- 
quence." —  London  Daily  News. 

"  Scenes  of  freshness  and  beauty,  charm  and  humour,  and  a  light- 
stepping  grace  belong  to  Mr.  Stephens's  new  book,  as  to  all  others 
which  he  has  made.  .  .  .  Over  the  book's  manner  of  writing  and  its 
happenings  there  is  a  shining  quality  of  pure  magic."  —  London  Ob- 
server. 

"  It  is  a  book  of  obstinate  liveliness  and  charm."  —  London  Athe- 


THE   MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

Publishers  64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

"There  is  not  another  book  like  this  *  Crock  of  Gold'  in  English 
literature.  There  are  many  books  like  pieces  of  it,  but  the  humor 
and  the  style  — these  things  are  Mr.  Stephens's  own  peculiar  gift." 

—  The  London  Standard. 


The  Crock  of  Gold 


Decorated  cloth^  i2mo^  $1.2^ 


PRESS  OPINIONS 

li  "  It  is  crammed  full  of  life  and  beauty  .  .  .  this  delicious,  fantastical, 
j  amorphous,  inspired  medley  of  topsy-turvydom." —  7/ie  Times. 
I  "  In  '  The  Crock  of  Gold'  Mr.  Stephens  gives  the  measure  of  a  larger 
t  and  more  individual  talent  than  could  have  been  absolutely  foretold.  .  .  . 
}  There  has  been  nothing  hitherto  quite  like  it,  but  it  is  safe  to  prophesy 
f  that  by  and  by  there  will  be  plenty  of  imitators  to  take  it  for  their  pattern. 

I  .  .  .  Mr.  Stephens  has  produced  a  remarkably  fine  and  attractive  work 

I  of  art."  —  7%e  AthencBUJit. 

"  We  have  read  nothing  quite  like  '  The  Crock  of  Gold.'  It  has  a 
charm  and  humor  peculiar  to  itself,  and  places  its  author  high  in  the  ranks 
of  imaginative  poetic  writers."  —  TAe  Globe. 

"  The  final  state  (in  the  case  of  the  reviewer)  was  one  of  complete  sur- 
render to  the  author  —  'go  on,  go  on,  fiddle  on  your  theme  what  har- 
monics you  will ;  this  is  delightful.'  .  .  .  Mr.  Stephens's  novel,  '  The 
Charwoman's  Daughter,'  was  a  remarkable  book,  and,  in  this  one,  he 
shows  he  can  succeed  as  well  in  quite  other  directions."  —  The  Nation. 

"...  A  genuine  Irish  Genius,  one  in  whose  heart  there  boil  and 
bubble  fantasy  and  tears,  the  irony  that  burns  and  a  bitter-sweet  humor 
that  is  mad."  — James  Huneker. 

"  He  shows  a  mastery  of  humorous  and  imaginative  prose." —  The 
Post. 

"...  A  fantasy,  but  a  striking  exception  to  the  rule  that  fantasies  are 
usually  dull.  It  does  not  matter  what  it  means,  or  whether  it  means  any- 
thing. It  is  like  sunlight,  ozone,  and  high  spirits.  You  splash  in  it  as  in 
a  summer  sea.  There  is  no  book  in  the  world  in  the  least  like  it,  and 
probably  there  will  never  be  another,  which  is  the  best  reason  for  making 
the  acquaintance  of  this  one  before  it  is  out  of  print."  —  Atlantic  Monthly. 


THE   MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

Publishers  64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

Here  Are  Ladies 

C/o^k,  i^mo,  $1.2^ 

"  '  Here  Are  Ladies  '  is  the  maddest,  sanest,  merriest,  saddest  collection 
of  little  stories  and  essays  that  has  come  to  the  reviewer's  table  in  a  six 
month."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 

"  Perhaps  the  real  charm  and  strength  of  the  book  lie  in  the  fact  that 
it  is  a  man's  book;  a  book  free  of  the  drawing-room  conventions,  decent 
or  indecent,  which  now  obsess  our  fiction  ;  a  book  with  the  free  and  hearty 
voice  of  one  honest  man  speaking  to  another  in  his  shop  or  at  his  club." 

—  The  Nation. 

"  In  the  present  volume  there  are  fun,  fancy,  philosophy,  and  some- 
times the  tragic  note,  combined  with  a  de  Maupassant  quality  of  tense, 
dramatic  characterization  which  condenses  a  whole  life-story  into  a  few 
pages  and  makes  the  characters  live  human  beings." —  The  Outlook. 

"  It  is  a  welcome  relief  to  run  across  a  new  author  of  real  talent,  in  the 
midst  of  a  whole  group  of  disappointing  volumes ;  and  a  case  in  point  is 
James  Stephens,  author  of  Here  Are  Ladies.'  " —  The  Bookman. 

"  Not  only  are  there  ladies  here,  but  men  and  incidents,  love  and  ha- 
tred —  all  sorts  of  side-lights  and  glimpses  at  life  from  a  whimsical,  humor- 
ous point  of  view  that  does  not  lack  human  feeling."  —  New  York  Times. 

"  One  can't  give  the  flavor  of  the  book  by  quoting  a  few  disconnected 
passages.  As  in  "  The  Crock  of  Gold,"  here  again  we  have  humor  of  a 
fresh  and  delightful  quality,  whimsy  and  philosophy,  poetry  and  romance, 
all  squared  up  with  life,  and  every  page  reflecting  one  of  the  most  original 
and  interesting  personalities  that  has  recently  appeared  in  literature." 

—  A^.  V.  Globe. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

Publishers  64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


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LD21 — A-40m-8,'75  General  Library 

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